“KAI!”
The roar tears through the fog—a command, a threat, pure thunder. Rafe’s voice. But it echoes warped and muffled, trapped in syrup, distant even though he’s close.
Motion erupts—boots, knees, hands—someone grabs me, hauls me up, lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. Mmm. That smell. Sugar. Salt. Smoke. Rafe.
I smile, sloppy and slow, and slur against his shoulder, voice soft and wrong. “Sugary home…” I purr, the words melting out of me, dizzy and fond and stupid. “You smell like… cotton candy and knives.”
“Jules!!” He barks it this time—sharp, loud, too loud. I flinch. My eyes roll back once before struggling to focus. His face swims into view: storm-gray eyes, black hair, blood and panic and everything I’ve ever wanted.
I grin—lopsided, sloppy. “Hi,” I whisper. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
“Julian. Look at me.”
“You wanna fuck me right now, don’t you?” I murmur, leaning forward even though my body refuses to cooperate. “Admit it. You miss my throat when it’s not gagging.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging in. “You’re not—Julian, what the fuck did you take?”
“I dunno,” I whisper. “But you’re pretty. You’re so pretty, Rafe.”
32
RAFE
This isn’t fucking happening. One second, he’s spinning in Luca’s arms, mouthing off like the drunken menace he is, cheeks flushed and grin all teeth. The next, he’s down. Knees slammed into the floor, eyes unfocused, voice slurring into something wrong. I hear my name from across the room—soft, strained, like it’s been dragged through mud and glass—and my stomach fucking drops.
I’m moving before the thought even fully forms—shoving bodies aside, elbows and shoulders parting like water. Bishop shouts something behind me, Finn laughs for half a second, but the sound dies fast. No one’s laughing anymore.
Because Julian can’t breathe.
I drop to my knees beside him and catch him as he slumps forward, limp and scorching hot, skin fever-bright enough to blister under my palms. His breaths come in short, shallow stutters, chest barely rising at all. “Julian.”
Nothing.
His head lolls against my chest. He smiles—drunk, dazed, completely fucked—and whispers against my collarbone, “Sugary home…” For one stupid second I think maybe he’s just plastered, just heat-stupid and drowning in vodka. But then he giggles. Then his body jerks.
Then he stops.
Stops fucking breathing.
“Jules.”
I shake him. His mouth hangs open. His lips are turning the wrong color. No. No no no—
“KAI!”
He doesn’t respond fast enough. No one is moving fast enough. “KAI, FUCKING DO SOMETHING!!”
I’m holding him, but he’s not holding back anymore. He’s limp, twitching once, twice—and then the convulsions hit. Arms flail weakly. Legs kick against the floor like his body is trying to reject itself from the inside out. Foam bubbles at the corners of his lips.
I can’t fucking breathe either.
He’s not breathing right. He’s not there. His eyes roll back until all I see is white sclera. “Julian—Julian, no—”
I shake him again, harder. Something wet splashes my face—his spit or my tears, I can’t tell anymore. Kai finally drops beside me, ripping his bag open, shoving a penlight into Julian’s eye. “What the fuck did he take?!”
“Nothing!” I snarl. “I gave him his dose this morning. That’s all. Nothing since—nothing else!”
Kai moves faster now—mask, syringe, gloves snapping on. He checks Julian’s pulse, curses low and vicious under his breath. “This isn’t withdrawal,” he says. “It’s not the dose. He’s overdosing on something else.”
